Drawing Dead
by GreyWolfHowl
Summary: Recovering a corpse, Jack Noir (Spades Slick) confirms this body to be the remains of his own crew member, Diamonds Droog. After proceeding to discuss matters with Midnight City's Problem Sleuth, Jack goes out to find the culprit and give him a taste of his own fury, but in the midst of his own investigation, Jack finds a more startling discovery on the Detective Agency. (Human!AU)


_**A Few Hours Ago: **_

"Jack Noir, am I correct?" The door shut with an echoing 'click'. The interrogation began…

He gave a slight nod, tipping the brim of his hat lower to conceal the cold glaring gaze he always would wear. A recording device in the corner of the room would track down every moment, action/reaction, expression, and word given; Jack knew he couldn't get away with too much for now. He better hold his tongue – this entire shenanigan was being recorded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Noir, I'll have to ask that you give a verbal response during this investigation." The detective's voice grumbled in disgust.

Jack mumbled under his breath, and looked up at the detective, as he slouched in his chair. He ducked his head a little, and muttered something to himself before speaking up, "Yeah… Yeah, I'm Jack Noir." Shifting around in his chair, he sat up and leaned forward slightly. Resting his elbows on the metallic table, he laced his fingers together and brushed the rim of his hat ever so slightly.

"There we go… Now, Mr. No-"

"Jack," Spades interrupted abruptly and rudely correcting the detective. "None of that… formal bullshit, kid. Just call me Jack."

"… Alright," A pause slipped in as the man looked down at a notepad, reading a few notes. In this moment of silence, he swore he could feel the cold stare down coming from his client, but managed to shrug it off. "Jack," He murmurs, his voice seeming to be dull and hollow. Here we go with this good cop, bad cop act… "Let's begin with a few basics... Now, Jack, I understand that you are a strong business owner of the major shipping parliaments that come in and out of this region. Am I correct?" Jack nodded, "I also understand that you are the founder of this city, and do control many of the other companies, much like your favored casino, and a few of the bars here and there…" He pauses and flips through the notepad, Jack lulling back in his seat, already bored of the situation. The detective looked up for a brief moment, "Alright, we'll begin with a few simple questions..."

"'Course, detective..." Jack sighed softly, operating this as any person would. If it will make this entire event fly faster, he'll do what it takes. Cooperating as any other person would – at least any other normal person would.  
There were a few more moments of silence, Jack finding himself drumming his fingers on the edges of the table for distraction. He hated the cops. He honestly did. He didn't want to be here; didn't want to be around this wretched was practically the devil's den to him, wreaking of sin and crawling with demons – the cops, "Can we hurry this along, detective, I've got a places to be..." The detective noticed Jack's anxious figure. A thought crossed the man's path and he soon stepped aside to take a seat across from Jack.

"We'll try to hurry this along... now, for the record, you were the one to identify the man we found at the coast line of the city, correct?"

"Yes."

"Okay... And your relations with Mr... Draconian were what kind?"

"Professional business." Jack answered quickly. He paused for a moment, waiting for the next question until he noticed that the detective waited, he wanted Jack to explain,"... he was a friend who needed some helping out. I knew him for a bit back before this city was built, but I lost track of him a while ago. Ran into him about a year and a half ago and struck up a deal. He's been workin' as my secritary for a while now, and he's been a damn good one to say the least."

"What would you call his supposed person...?"

"I don't... follow..." He gives a confused look.

"Person, like... personality – his character. Did anyone hate him? Were there people who were holding grudges against him?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah, pleanty of people hated him, but not enough to strike him as the easy-to-kill. Now, the bastard was a real smartass, even to me; dry sense of humor..."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Of course. Draco wasn't much of a chatty man. To say the least? He was quiet and well-organized; a thinker. The man was hard to read, and was always one to be more than what he looked. He could solve any problem ya'd throw at him. Intelligent, organized, quiet... he could hold his tongue, but he had one hell of a dry sense of humor. He'd make small inappropriate jokes ever so often, about things you don't normally joke about. But all in all? He was a classy guy, enjoyed the finer things in life and hell, he had 'em too!" Jack lulled his head back, lacing his fingers together and resting them on the back of his head. He grinned to himself, nodding at the few thoughts remaining in his mind. The detective wrote this down, a small question rising for his lips.

"Were you ever jealous of Mr. Draconian?" The question rose without hesitation. Jack was caught off guard, sitting up and raising a brow.

"Jealous? 'course not. The man was a real prick, even when he was able to get most of the broads, but the man had his days – some you would never guess, but he'd let ya' know if you were gettin' on his nerves. One hell of a temper, though, I tell ya'. I would not want to fuck with him when he's pissed." Jack sits up, fingers still laced together as he rest them against the cold of the table, "He and I would have argue ever-so-often on days he'd be areal horse's ass and I wouldn't be in the mood to deal with him..."

"So, on days you don't feel up to the shinanigin, what would you do when he persisted...? How did these arguments end?"

"Most of the time, we'd end maybe a bit rusty – as it usually started out, but we'd always end as if nothing ever happened." He said, "Of course, sometimes I'd be more pissed than he'd be a bad hair day, and I'd lock myself in my office for times on end until I could come to face him again." He murmured softly, still fidgeting to himself, twittling his thumbs here and there.

"So, you're rather short-tempered as well?" The detective jotted these notes down, eyes flickering to the large one-way-window behind Jack. He pursed his lips together, listening to Jack when he began to speak again...

"No kiddin' on that. Yeah, I do." He said, "But I'm aware of it... that's why I do the things I do to control it. But there are just so many things in this world that like to piss me off..."

"I take the thought of – if he pissed you off enough – you begin the argument... and what would he do...?"

"Not always. I'd often just yell for him to screw off. But if it does go that far, he'd back off, first... then he'd try and reason with me – which was always inevitable, as I'm a man with boiling blood – and finally, he'd just stand there and take all the yelling." Jack starts to bounce his leg. He knew where this was going; where this was leading up to.

"So would these arguments leave you still angry – wanting more than just an argument?" The detective nods here and there, shifting in his seat to crossing a leg over the other, eyes trailing to stare into the blue ones of Jack.

"Oh, well, no. I mean, no matter how much I'd want to, I'd never attack one of my own men—"

"Wouldn't that have been plenty enough reasoning to attack? And the opportunity would have been abroad, because you were his friend; you were could the man he be relaxed around—" The detective couldn't finish his sentence. Jack stood up and braced his hands against the table.

"Now hold on a fuckin' second." He snarled, "Draconian was my fuckin' friend – my only fuckin' friend. Why the fuck would I want to kill him!?"

"You tell me, Mr. Noir." Silence fell between them, the detective remaining in his seat and the undercover mobster remaining where he stood; eyes locked onto each other, ice blue gaze clashing with the emerald green... tension sparked as Jack tried to control his own fuming temper. How dare this _prick_ make a false assumption? Who the fuck does he think he is?!  
"I'd like to make it a point to state that you not only run a sketchy shipping dock, but also associate yourself with a group of men known who – even you, yourself – have a track record of being caught in the acts that not only go against the law, but against your rules. If I have my facts correct, you have felonies charged against you, which you've always somehow managed to slip out of…" The detective cut between Jack's thoughts, flipping through his notepad to read off what he could find. Jack grumbled and slowly sat back down, taking a few deep breathes.

"Now, ain't this interrogation supposed to be towards the investigation of my missing coworker, and not bashing against my past record of felony charges? Yeah, I committed some crimes, but eh', everybody does. I did my times-worth of dealing with the police force, but conspiracies, Detective, aren't a part of your job description." Jack shrugged, looking up at the detective again, "I admit I can be a bit crooked here and there, and may have a few nicks and knacks that can't be repaired, but I'm the man who made this city for what it is. And if it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in this city, sittin' where you're sittin' and workin' on this damn case of _my_ missing friend, punk."

"I'd watch who you're flinging names at, Jack." The detective mutters. "I'm not the one being asked questions. Anyways, you're correct; this is going towards the investigation of said dead man." He murmured before trailing off and gleaming down at his notepad. Previous notes of what had been gathered by the scene to the autopsy were jotted down in illegible scribbles. He paused for a moment, flickering his pen between his fingers and sighed, "...Looking into the death, and the records that we've managed to pull from the autopsy, it appears our victim has not only multiple stab wounds in his back, chest, and stomach – all half inches deep – but we found him to of also suffered major head trauma, damage to the ribs, severe burns in the stomach, and many other... disturbing details..." Jack's expression shifted to a look of utter disgust, and shock.

"You mean to tell me that my coworker was tortured to death?"

"Not exactly. We've reviewed the results from his blood, and found that his blood contained more than double the amount of alcohol intake than the average daily drunk." The detective explained, "That suggests he was either previously drinking, _or _he was drugged. The time of death we managed to estimate was... around 2:30 this morning... Meaning, he was left to die. He do you exactly have to say about this?"

As Jack listened, he began to shake his head, growling under his breath, "… That doesn't sound like him." He murmurs, brushing his chin a bit with his finger.

"Excuse me?"

"I said that doesn't sound like my coworker." Jack barked and stands, hands bracing against the table once more. The detective watched, raising a brow. "I know that man like I know my right hand; he would never do anything like that. He's too smart for that shit." The detective merely looked at Jack's right arm and huffs softly.

"Yet it appears you seem to be missing both." He comments on the metal right arm. Jack growled softly at the man and shook his head, soon sitting down in his chair. "Now, it appears to me that you had more than just a 'professional' or workman- relationship…" The detective points out. "Exactly how do you know he wouldn't?"

"I've seen him at his workplace before. Hell, he sits right out of my office – I know that man would, because I see him every day. I watch him. That's why I hired him. I know how he is." Spades murmurs and growls under his breath, "That man can solve most of any puzzle you can come to think of and throw at him." Spades explained and sighed softly. "I've seen him at good and bad; he and I were more than just workers, yeah, that's true. He was my best friend, as I'd hate to admit. That bastard _was_ my right hand." He sits down and rubs his face slightly, "He's helped me out too many times for me not to be in his debt, and always would set things straight when they got a little twisted. I could never repay a man like him back in just one lifetime, Detective, and that's why I'm sayin' that he couldn't have been killed."

As the detective took notice of Jack's' actions, he jotted down a few notes and nods a few times, "Now, it's my understanding that the group of men you associate with have more history than led to believe. Would you care to explain the history that you've made with them?" Jack looked up at the detective and raised a brow.

"I think this subject is trailing off case of what's supposed to be the main goal here. What's the history got to do with this?"

"Slick, at this point, every single one of your men, including you, is a suspect."

"You think I would kill my own coworker even after I explained how important he was?!" Jack lashed, and growled at the man. "You think they would?! Those two stooges can't even tell the difference between a jackknife and a switchblade for god's sake!"

"Mr. Noir, please calm down, I'm just doing my job." The detective noted the short violent fuse that Jack seemed to quickly burn through quickly. That confirmed what the man said earlier... he did have a short-temper, "We have no leads on who might have done it; no fingerprints, no shoeprints, no weapon, or tie as to why they would." The detective explains, "Not a single trace that we can pick up on... meaning we're dealing with a professional."  
Jack was silent for a long moment, thinking. He shook his head and sighed softly.

"... meanin' that whoever it was to who killed my coworker could be targeting the other boys next. Then me." Jack looked down at the table, to his hands, then up to the Detective, "He could still be out there, waiting for me to walk in the dark alone. Meaning, that you get your fucking mutts out and sniff out for the god damn scent of that fucker." Jack ordered, and growled, "I want answers as much as you do, detective." Jack snarled, and slammed a fist down on the table. "That was my fuckin' best friend, damn it, and don't forget that."  
The detective just stared at Jack, a bored look crossing his features.

"We would, but it's been too long for them to pick up on something, and including the fact that it's rained _that night_."

"It doesn't hurt to try, doesn't it?" Jack stared up at the man with dull eyes, shaking his head, "A rope, bloodstain, bullet, anything?" Jack asked, pursing his lips together. The detective shook his head, giving a gentle sigh, frowning a bit. Of course, it wouldn't hurt to try, but it's been far too long for their dogs to pick up on a trace. Records showed that he's been dead for three or more days. The least they could do is figure out the time of death, seeing as the rain's washed away most evidence. Why couldn't Jack understand that? "… Look, I know you're doing your job and all, but I can't accept no for an answer." Jack glared again, his temper fuming once more. This man was mad, "You don't stop trying until all possible ways to figure it out are executed."

"And if they were?"

"They aren't, aren't they, detective? Don't ask that until they are." Jack muttered, and took a deep breath to calm down. "I lost my best friend, and I was the only one to step forward and identify him. I'm in this god damn **box** answering the questions you throw at me, and not hesitating to give you the only bit of information I know. What's that tell you, detective?" Jack stared at him with determined, yet anxious eyes and shook his head. When the detective took a few moments to respond, he looked away. "I ain't guilty of killin' my best friend. I wouldn't even consider the idea. I mean, 'course we had our differences and argued often, but it would never get to the point that I'd drive a knife into his throat. I might be a bit sadistic, but I ain't that much of a malicious bastard." Jack closes his eyes and bowed his head, closing his statement. The detective shook his head again, watching Jack for a long moment before speaking up.

"Mr. Noir, I have one last question." The detective murmurs, and sits down, placing his notepad down. "… What kind of people did Mr. Draconian associate himself with? Other than you, so to speak." Jack stopped and fell silent, curious if he should really say who. Droog – Draconian – was a dangerous man, Jack knew that, and knew that the men he hung around were just about as equal.

He bit at his lip for a moment, looking as though he was thinking and then he shook his head, "I'm sorry, detective, I can't answer that."

"Why is it?"

"... because I don't know."

* * *

**Be Spades Slick – Jack Noir – In Present Time**

"_Yes, well... if that's all you know, Jack, I'm obliged to let you go. This ends our discussion."_

"_Of course."_

"_... Jack?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_... if telling yourself that he's not dead is going to give you peace; go ahead. But at some point, you're going to have to come to grips with this reality. The evidence doesn't lie."_

"_You know what's funny...?"_

"_What?"_

"_Sounds like something he would say."_

"_..."_

On your way home, you limp. Your horse head-hitcher being your support to holding you up for now. You stroll through the city in the late hours of the night on your way back to the office. Unsure for what would be there waiting for you, you pray it would be your right-hand man, Diamonds Droog, holding out a few folders on the recent rival gangs that moved next door. But you know he won't be.  
Clubs Deuce and Hearts Boxcars – the two idiots you mentioned to the detective a few days ago – usually stick together (and honestly you can't blame them, condsidering the news of Droog's death and no evidence behind that of who it could have been) but most recently they have gone out drinking. They're out enjoyingthemselves, you guess, before they go back to work. You, however, are busy and though you'd like to pound the shit out of those two mindless idiots for being so careless about important matters, you refrain. You can't...  
Not only are you busy looking into this case of your own right hand-man being killed, but you also have an other businesses you need to keep track of – much like your favored casino and shipping dock. Boxcars and Deuce are most likely drinking away their wories, but you can't. Not yet, at least.

Recently, after the interrogation, you reflected back on what the detective said... yet still you cannot stand the given fact that, that _fool_; that _fuckin' cop_ tried to make you fess up to murdering your own friend! The likes of that asshole really...  
Really...

Diamonds Droog is missing...  
Well...  
Sort of.

His body was recovered down by your docking unit, and you were one to come forward and open your big mouth to bother identifying him – not like anyone else could. His body, though, upon seeing it was... mangled... a mesh of disgusting gore that... surprised you...  
And it was strange, considering the fact that Diamonds – Draconian – would never allow himself to be shot down like that; to be murdered so easily. He's too good for that. You _know_ he is. You _know him_; hell, he was there for you since you two were practically ids. No matter what happened, he stuck by you like a brother-

You punch a wall with a fist you didn't realized was clenched, "..." Sighing softly, taking a small step back, he looked down at your white knuckled and beginning to bleed hand, grumbling under your breath, "... it's not like him to do this." You mutter to yourself, as if talking to someone you hoped listened, "To just... disappear like that. No. It's Diamonds Droog, this is your best fuckin' friend, Slick, c'mon! You know him better than that!" You feel your emotions stir as your thoughts become verbalized. Yet, still, you shake your head and continue on, taking a shortcut down an allyway.  
It pisses you off a little. You're suppose to be the leader of this organization and that's exactly what you're trying to do! But what kind of fucking leader lets one of his own die? Nontheless, his own Right Hand-Man?! And now you're about to become an emotional wreck for this!? Fuck no! Diamonds Droog is just lost in a little city.  
That's your story behind what happened to him and you're going to stick with it.

"Just a little lost..." You mutter to yourself, tugging out a set of keys to unlock the door to your office building.


End file.
